Gnarled.

Chapter One

Just for a change, it's raining as I walk out of the gloomy department store and head over to find a taxi. Another job interview done, another rejection email waiting for me when I get home no doubt. I raise my arm to hail a cab and remember I'm broke. Before the driver pulls over I pretend to receive a phone call and walk away with my phone to my ear, pretending I didn't see the taxi driver give me the finger. Turning the corner, I duck under the bus shelter and put my phone away. It's only a 10-minute walk home I suppose, and I really shouldn't be wasting money right now as rent is coming up.

Ah shit, rent. I've barely been getting by these last few months, and I think the whole 'young girl trying to make ends meet' sympathy has worn off on my landlord, Ms Collins. I shudder as I remember her face when I told her, for the third time this year, I was going to be late on paying. Redder than a tomato. About the same shape as well actually. I smirk to myself as I begin the trudge home along Gotham's busy streets. I shouldn't think such horrible things about people, but it's hard staying positive sometimes.

I'm your prime example of a kid who let their fears get the better of them. At 20, nearly 21, years of age I thought I'd at least have some grasp on a future by now. But nope, here I am running around the worlds most depressed city, trying to get a job to pay for my tiny mouldy apartment. Didn't even get accepted into art school as I hoped.

"You're ideas are just sort of…weird, Isabelle. Not what we're looking for."

"You're sure you want to be an artist? Really?"

Or, my personal favourite:

"If you were my student, I'd refer you to therapy. This is chaotic."

I suppress a chuckle but allow the grin to dance on my lips. As I stop at a cross roads, an older man glances at me and frowns as he sees me smile to myself. I adjust the collar of my coat to hide my face. What's his problem, I'm not miserable enough for him? He leans down, to who I assume is his wife, and whispers something in her ear. She glances at me with obvious distaste, then looks back to her husbands and mouths a word.

Now, when you live in a city like Gotham, you learn a lot of things pretty quickly. For example, never walk by yourself at night (or even during the day if you can help it), never call the police and never snitch. Living where I do, in The Narrows, you also learn what it looks like when someone mouths the word 'crazy'. Which that is precisely what this uppity bitch just did.

I turn to face them, changing to show a sinister look. "Sorry, what was that?" I ask to the woman, maintaining intense eye contact. Her eyes dart back between me and her husband, who does nothing to defend her. She's visibly bothered by me and I relish in it. An awkward silence fills the air as the other people at the crossing stop talking and start staring at me.

"That's what I thought." I don't look before stepping out into the road and proceeding to cross it. I think I hear a taxi brake hard and shout some threats out the window at me, but I'm not listening. I've been told I'm not much of a people person. I think this is why my job hunt isn't going very well, I can never seem to be on the same page as any of the interviewers, they're all so dull it makes me want to tear my hair out. Everyone takes life so seriously.

Not far until I reach home now, I think. Only a couple more minutes. The bus stop opposite my building takes you straight to the centre of the city in less than 20 minutes, and it currently host to a gang on young teens. The air is so cold out tonight you can hardly tell which of the kids where smoking. Avoiding eye contact, I walk past the group and head towards the apartment building. I hear a wolf whistle aimed in my direction before I reach the steps into the building. I pretend I didn't hear it.

/

I live on the fifth floor, which is also the top floor. My flat is one open room with a living space and a kitchen with a breakfast bar. To the right, there is a short corridor with two doors, one leading to my tiny bathroom and the other to my bedroom. The bathroom is an appalling teal colour. My living room is full of pot plants and art supplies. From the window in the living room, I can look out over parts of the narrows. I can see other apartment buildings, casinos and a hospital. I can also see Arkham Asylum.

Arkham. The one place nobody wants to be. The place parents threaten their children with when they're bad. The place that, from the outside, just looks like another one of Gotham's boring, depressing structures. But, as many of the city's citizens find out, is a horror show behind closed doors.

Memories try to claw their way to the front of my mind, so I push them back. Way, way back.

No, I had more pressing issues to think about right now. Today was my last chance to snag myself a new job before the weekend, and I had failed. Ms Collins is going to evict me, I just know it. She's always hated me, at first I foolishly though it was because she was jealous of my slight frame and naturally blonde hair, compared to her general roundness. But now I know it's because some people, are just mean. Completely and pointlessly mean. Oh, and finding a young and vulnerable person to take it out on? It's like sex to her. She can't get enough of it.

I see the dark green of my front door and dig my hand around in my bad to find the keys. God, I need a fucking job! The door finally gives and I wander lazily into my apartment, kicking the door shut behind me. Turning back around, I dead bolt the door out of habit. You can never be too sure in the Narrows. Throwing my bag over the back of my sofa I make my way into the kitchen. My stomach is rumbling as I open the fridge, pausing just before to pray that some food has magically appeared while I was out. Which of course, it hadn't. Asides from the milk and butter, nothing else graced the shelves so I instead turn to the old reliable – instant ramen noodles. Thai chicken flavour was becoming somewhat of a delicacy for me I realise as I switch on the kettle.

My worn-out sofa becomes my nest for the evening as I settle down to watch some crappy TV and fall asleep with a belly full of noodles. Same old news stories about rising crime rates in Gotham mean nothing to me as I begin drifting asleep. Why even report this kind of stuff? Everybody knows that the police in Gotham are sitting on the Mob's lap. Hell, most people are. The Mob run basically all of the Narrows that's for sure. Even my favourite coffee shop is run on blood money. I know I shouldn't contribute but damn… they make a good latte.

The rain picks up and begins tapping on my window and I know I'll wake up with a stiff neck if I don't force myself to go to bed. Grumbling to myself, I stand up and mash all the buttons on the remote until the TV switches off, interrupting whatever boring report the news presenter was giving. I turn off the light and move blindly down the corridor into my bedroom where I fall into bed and curl up, still in my clothes.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you will find a damn job.

/